


Counting Stars

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Misunderstandings, Romance, Slow-dancing, an extremely hazy understanding on the author's part of how business actually works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: A marriage proposal this un-romantic shouldn't be this convincing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It took me like a very long to get this story written, and if parts of it are uneven that's why - some of it was written over year ago, and although it's gone under substantial revision, that's still quite the span. I have to thank @lasciel and @jpo2107 for being unrelenting supporters and beta-readers as this thing made its way toward the light of day. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Takes place in a vague domestic modern-day AU.

  **_Jack_ **

It’s Wilhelm, of all people, who suggests it, and Jack tells him he must be out of his goddamned mind.

“I have _been there_ and _done that_ ,” Jack growls. “And I have the alimony to prove it.”

Wilhelm shrugs. “Marriage says _stability_ to a lot of people. Proves you can handle your personal life _and_ your business affairs. Multitasking.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on.” Jack turns to glare at Nisha - why is he friends with these people? They are _ganging up on him._ “You’ve always blamed the Maliwan thing on Moxxi; maybe if you hadn’t been banging her the deal wouldn’t have gone south.”

“Are you saying I should ask Mox to marry me? Because let me repeat, _no.”_

Nisha snorts. “Hell no, she’d eat you alive. But what about that pretty young thing you’re seeing - what’s his name, Reece?”

“It’s _Rhys_.” Had he said that too fast? Because now Wilhelm and Nisha are looking at him funny. “And for the last time, I’m not asking someone to marry me just to make the deal with Torgue go smoothly.”

“You can always divorce him later,” Nisha suggests, and Jack is tempted to slap his hand over her mouth to _make her stop talking_ , but Nisha bites.

“No.” Nisha and Wilhelm exchange a look. “Shut _up_. No.”

* * *

**_Rhys_ **

As proposals go it's not romantic.

Rhys hasn’t been proposed to a whole lot in his life - or at all, actually - but he always imagined that it would involve someone down on one knee, maybe a blazing sunset. A ring would probably make an appearance at some point.

Instead, Jack's just given Rhys the orgasm of his life - Rhys has had a lot of those since he met Jack - and is groaning out his own release as his hips stutter and grow still. Jack collapses to the side, and Rhys is catching his breath and riding the afterglow when Jack says it.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you should just marry me already."

Rhys is pretty sure he didn't hear that correctly.

"I - what?"

"I said you should marry me. Don't make me repeat myself, pumpkin, it's not cute." Jack sounds like he's scowling, but his face is partially obscured by the pillow so it's hard to tell.

“I’m not trying to be cute? I’m trying to see if you've had an aneurism and I should call 911.”

"Funny.” Jack props himself up on one arm, causing the sheet to fall somewhere around his hips, exposing his chest and giving him an entirely unfair advantage in this conversation, as far as Rhys is concerned.

"Okay, listen. It's a business arrangement, right? I need a pretty face to stand next to me at events, you need something to lift you out of that shithole you call a life." Normally Rhys would bristle at the shithole life comment, but this entire conversation is so surreal he can't muster up the outrage. "I'm a more legitimate businessman if I'm married, apparently," and here Jack rolls his eyes, "and my accountant tells me the tax breaks are incredible. Seriously, he teared up about them, it was embarrassing."

Jack is looking at Rhys expectantly, like Rhys can possibly form a coherent answer to this entirely bizarre turn of events.

"You don't - we barely know each other, and you want to get married for the tax breaks?"

"Not _just_ the tax breaks, didn't you hear the part about the pretty face?" Jack huffs. "Honestly didn't think I'd have to work this hard to convince you, kiddo."

"I am _trying_ to be the voice of reason, because you have clearly lost your mind," Rhys says, affronted.

“Just think about it.” Jack starts listing things on his fingers. “No more shitty job - and I know you hate it, you only tell me how much it sucks every time I see you.” Rhys winces. He’s not that bad, is he? “No more student loan payments.” Rhys isn’t going to lie, that sounds pretty attractive. “You get to attend all the most exclusive events in the city with yours truly. And of course,” and here Jack gestures down at himself, “unlimited access to this rockin’ bod and amazing dick.”

This is sounding less and less like a joke. “...I feel like this shouldn’t make sense.”

“But it does, right? We both need something the other can provide, you don’t make me want to shoot myself or you, we have great sex. What more do we need to talk about?”

“Everything?” Rhys sees sanity slipping further and further away, but Jack just chuckles and leans down until his lips are almost on Rhys'.

"Just think about it," he repeats, and then Jack's kissing him and the conversation gets dropped in favor of round two.

* * *

But the problem is that Rhys does think about it. His life is not a _shithole_ , thank you very much Jack, but if he's honest it's not what he'd hoped it'd be either. Even after putting in the work for his MBA his career is stalled out, his boss is making his life miserable, and he's drowning in student loans. And okay, maybe his apartment _is_ a shithole, but it's not like Jack's even seen it. That was a lucky guess.

Jack had been a nice distraction from all that. He appears to be genuinely interested in Rhys; in _all_ of Rhys, even - the first time Rhys has hesitantly showed Jack how to detach his right arm Jack had watched with fascinated eyes and then spent twenty minutes trying to reverse engineer the arm before Rhys had managed to distract him with his mouth. He can be kind of a dick, sure, but when they’re together Rhys has a hard time remembering the rest of his life. Rhys lets himself think about what it would be like if that were more permanent.

He calls Vaughn first, because what are best friends for if not to support your massive life-changing decisions? Or in Vaughn’s case, to try to talk you out of it.

“No.”

“Okay, but just listen -”

“ _No_ . Are you out of your mind? _”_ Rhys can practically hear Vaughn glaring. “This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had, and may I remind you that the Dishwasher Incident was all you.”

“For the last time, _both bottles said dishes on them_ \- you know what, that’s not even important right now. What’s important is that this could be my ticket _out_ , Vaughn, out of this soul-sucking job and awful apartment.” There’s silence from Vaughn’s end and Rhys presses his case. “And just think of the tax breaks. You know about this kind of stuff - they’re pretty great, aren’t they?”

Vaughn makes a small considering noise. “I mean, yeah, filing jointly is a lot more advantageous than filing individually, but - come on, you barely know him.”

Rhys winces to hear his own words echoed back to him. “I know him pretty well. Besides, he’s a top executive - he’s going to be busy with work most of the time.”

“Hm.” Rhys can hear the wheels turning in Vaughn’s head. “Have you talked to Yvette about this?”

Yvette is a lot more straightforward. “So he’d be your sugar daddy, is what you’re saying.”

Rhys winces and leans back in his chair. “Do you have to say it like that?”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.” Yvette folds her arms on the cafe table and leans forward. “Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. Does he have any brothers?”

“Uh.”

Yvette raises her eyebrows. “You don’t know if he has family?” She cocks her head at him. “How much _do_ you know about this _Jack_ , anyway?”

Rhys sighs. He doesn’t really know how to answer that. “I know that he makes more money in a day than I see in a year.” He doodles his fingers in the condensation from his water glass. “I know that he’s everything I’ve always wanted to be. I know that when I’m with him I forget that I want to be anyplace else. And I know that he is inexplicably interested in me - enough to ask me to _marry him_ , christ. But look,” he hits Yvette with what he hopes is his most persuasive face. “It’s just a business arrangement, right? He said so himself. We get on well together, he’s filthy rich - why does it have to be anything more than that?”

Yvette’s face has softened while he talked, and she reaches a hand over the table to take his. Her fingers are warm and dry, her grip firm and sure. “If this is what you want, I’ll support you in it. There’s always divorce right?”

He squeezes her fingers before letting them go, smiling. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Yvette laughs. “All right. In the meantime, lunch is on you from now until eternity.”

“Fair.” Rhys leans back and signals for the check.

The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks that this is the right choice. It’s bold, but his life could use some bold action - he’s fallen into a rut, and Jack has a way of shaking thing up. Rhys could use a little shaking. He texts Jack _ <yes> _ the next day, and Jack sends back an obnoxiously large thumbs up. It feels like flying.

* * *

There’s a pre-nuptial agreement, which Rhys feels stupid for not anticipating. It’s long and dense, and Rhys can’t quite pinpoint what he’s feeling as he flips through it, sitting next to Jack opposite an attorney who charges more per hour than Rhys’ monthly rent. But it’s not like _he_ has anything to lose, right? The prenup is about protecting Jack, and slouched down in his chair with his feet kicked up on the attorney’s desk, Jack doesn’t look like a man in need of protection. Bored out of his mind, possibly, but not worried about the future. Rhys shrugs and initials where he’s been directed, signing at the bottom. Jack does the same, scribbling his name with an illegible flourish and shoving the stack of papers back across the desk at the attorney who catches them with the air of a woman whose retainer more than makes up for this kind of behavior.

Jack bumps Rhys’ shoulder with his on the way out. “You’re going to take my name, right?”

“Uh.” Rhys hadn’t thought about it. “Sure?”

“You’d better, it was in section 3, paragraph A.” Rhys blinks at him, nervousness beginning to settle in his stomach - should he have read that document more carefully? - but Jack just laughs at him, stabbing the button to the elevator. “I kid, I kid - you can take it or not, up to you.” Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I have to say I like the sound of _Rhys Lawrence_ , though.”

As Rhys follows Jack through the elevator door, he has to admit that he likes the sound of it himself.

* * *

The ceremony itself is a short, civil service. Vaughn is Rhys’ best man, of course; Jack’s is Rhys’ terrifying friend Nisha. Rhys is awestruck by her, tripping over his words so much that Jack takes him by the elbow and tugs him away, muttering “careful, kitten, I’m the jealous type.” Rhys turns a fond grin on him, pulling him in for a kiss - doesn’t Jack know he has nothing to worry about? - until Vaughn pulls them apart, saying “hey, hey, aren’t you supposed to wait until _after_ the ceremony for that?”

The party afterwards is small but raucous. Nisha and Jack’s friend Wilhelm somehow end up in a four-way drinking contest with Rhys’ friend Sasha and her boyfriend August. When Rhys looks over, August is somewhere under the table, Nisha is asleep behind a mountain of empty shot glasses, Wilhelm is swaying slightly in his seat and Sasha is staring him down with a shark’s grin, pushing another round toward him with hands that are perfectly steady. Yvette drinks a staggering amount of very expensive champagne over the course of the night with little discernible effect, while Vaughn has to be helped up to his room. Rhys watches them go fondly from where he’s seated, leaning into Jack’s side and tugging Jack’s arm more firmly around him. Jack’s hand catches Rhys’ in his own, even as he continues arguing animatedly with Sasha’s sister Fiona on the other side.

Rhys turns his head in to Jack’s neck and just breathes in for a second, letting the scent of Jack’s aftershave fill his lungs. Jack’s fingers flex around his when Rhys presses gentle kisses to the side of the neck, and they go crushingly tight when Rhys uses his teeth.

“O- _kay_.” Fiona’s voice cuts through his warm and comfortable reverie, and he peers out around the side of Jack’s neck to see her pushing her chair back in mock indignation. “I think that’s my cue to go.”

“Sorry, Fi,” Rhys says apologetically - but not _too_ apologetically, because now Jack’s hand is on the back of Rhys’ neck and that always turns Rhys’ spine to molten gold.

“No you’re not,” she replies, but her smile is fond, and she gives them a little wave as she turns to join the rest of the party.

“Looks like you’re ready to get out of here, babe.” Rhys shivers as Jack’s breath ghosts warmly over his ear, and Rhys hopes that the way he grabs Jack’s tie and pulls their mouths together communicates just _how ready_ he is.

From the way Jack’s lips curve against his, Rhys thinks that it does.

* * *

Rhys wakes up the next morning in Jack’s bed and thinks, _holy shit, I did it_.

He props himself up on his elbow, but the bed next to him is empty. Before he can get too worked up about that, he hears whistling from the hall and Jack sails in, dressed in a truly obnoxious hawai’ian shirt and Rhys remembers: _oh, yeah. Honeymoon._

The next two weeks feel like a dream, the kind Rhys doesn’t want to wake up from. It’s not just the sun, sand, and surf, although that’s certainly nice; it’s the way Jack will casually drape an arm over Rhys’ shoulders, thumb rubbing absently the wedding band on his finger, or the way Rhys will catch Jack looking at him with a self-satisfied expression. Occasionally Rhys will try to kiss that look off of Jack’s face, but that only makes it worse, Jack’s fingers dipping just below the waistband of Rhys’ swim trunks, skating over the curve of his ass and making Rhys shiver. Jack watches Rhys like he’s something bright and interesting, and Rhys revels in that attention, soaking it up.

(And of course, the way Jack opens him up slowly until Rhys is begging for him to _fuck me already, please, Jack_ , the way he can drive Rhys out of his mind with his hands and his tongue and his dick, that certainly doesn’t hurt either.)

It’s addictive, is what it is. Rhys could certainly get used to this.

He’s pensive on the plane back home, watching Jack shift back into work mode as he scrolls through the literally hundreds of emails waiting for him. It’s strange to think that Rhys won’t have to do that; that Rhys isn’t _going_ back to work when they get home. These last two weeks have been an escape from reality, and Rhys isn’t sure what life on the other side is going to look like, but he’s looking forward to finding out.

* * *

Life resumes, more or less. Rhys gets rid of his crappy furniture and moves his remaining possessions to Jack’s highrise condominium. He’s not sorry to see his old apartment go, and even less sorry to quit his job. That had been quite the day - Rhys had marched into Henderson’s office, announced, “I quit!” in ringing tones, and marched back out again. His triumphant exit was marred only by the fact that he had to double back for the succulent on his desk - he wasn’t going to leave Gortys to Henderson’s not-so-tender mercies - but that only meant he got to dramatically slam the door _twice_ on his way out.

So life resumes, only Rhys’ life has taken a sharp turn for the better. Instead of a soul-sucking job, Rhys is free to spend his time as he chooses. Instead of a view of the alley, his new living room looks out on a breathtaking panoramic cityscape. Instead of waking up to the blare of an alarm - well okay, he still wakes up to the blare of an alarm, but it’s _Jack’s_ alarm, not his, and if he wants Rhys can burrow back underneath the covers and stay there. Most days he doesn’t; most days he at least gets up with Jack and makes coffee, but he _can_ stay in bed if he wants to and that makes all the difference.

Rhys has been officially moved in to Jack’s condo for less than a week, and is staring blearily at the espresso machine - it’s expensive enough, maybe if he just stares at it long enough it’ll divine his intentions and turn itself on - when Jack sweeps into the kitchen. Rhys has discovered that Jack is, disgustingly, a morning person, which means that Jack is already showered and dressed while Rhys is still in his boxers and one of Jack’s old shirts. At least he remembered to attach his arm on the way out of the bedroom; some mornings he’s not so on top of things.

Jack tosses something on the counter next to him and nudges Rhys out of the way. “You’re killing me, staring at that thing like it’ll take pity on you and turn on. Let me at it so we can have coffee sometime this century.” He nods at the counter as he pulls out beans and the grinder. “By the way, I got you something.”

Rhys looks over, and it’s - it’s a credit card, matte black and _very_ exclusive looking. It has Rhys’ name on it. He picks it up, and it even _feels_ expensive.

“Whatever you want, put it on that. Now might be a good time to replace that crappy excuse for a wardrobe.” Jack gives Rhys a once-over. “Maybe then you’ll stop stealing my shirts.”

Rhys looks down, suddenly self conscious. “I, uh, sorry, I thought-” He’s not sure how to end that sentence. _Sorry for wearing your things?_ _You seemed to like it yesterday?_

Jack shoves a cappuccino under his nose and Rhys’ fingers close around it automatically. “Geez, pumpkin, that was a joke. I know you’re not at your best in the morning, but come on.” Jack tilts Rhys’ head up until he’s looking at Jack again. Jack is grinning.

“I like seeing you in my clothes. Wear them all you want.” His hand trails down Rhys’ throat and splays against Rhys’ chest, and his grin turns wicked. “I am, however, fond of this shirt, and I would occasionally like to see you in something I can tear off of you without remorse.”

Rhys’ whole body heats, and he is suddenly a lot more awake. Jack fists his hand in his shirt, pulling Rhys in for a kiss, and Rhys meets him halfway, putting his coffee aside so he can drape his arms around Jack’s shoulders.

Jack gets his hands on Rhys’ hips and _lifts_ , turning to deposit Rhys on the island counter and stepping into the space between his legs. Rhys makes room for him and pulls Jack closer, opening his mouth to Jack’s and wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist. Coffee forgotten, Rhys shivers and tips his head back when Jack starts lavishing attention on his neck. This is a _much_ better way to start the day, at least it is until -

“Much as I hate to be the voice of reason,” Jack murmurs, tracing his lips up Rhys’ neck, “I do actually have go into the office today.”

“You started it.” Jack huffs. “You’re the boss. Who’s going to call you on it? And you’re a newlywed.” Rhys tilts his head down so he can look at Jack through his eyelashes. “You wouldn’t leave your new husband _all alone_ so soon, would you?” Rhys runs a hand down Jack’s stomach to where Jack’s already half hard and _squeezes,_ and Jack’s hips jerk forward.

“Oh sweetheart, you fight dirty.” Jack pulls Rhys down for a heated kiss. When he breaks away his voice is low and warm. “I like that.”

* * *

Jack does eventually end up going in to work, but he does so several hours late, leaving Rhys deliciously sore and satiated. He stretches out in the bed and drowses, enjoying the feeling of being well fucked with nowhere to be.

When he eventually wanders back out to the kitchen, he spies the credit card - _his_ credit card - lying forgotten on the counter. He picks it up and taps it against the granite thoughtfully.

Crappy wardrobe, huh? Well, he will just see about that.

The bespoke tailor will have to wait, although dropping the name _Lawrence_ does magically open up an appointment in two weeks instead of two months. In the meantime Rhys tears a swath through downtown, mentally calculating the size of the closet in the master bedroom that Jack is criminally underusing. He makes sure to pick up some things he knows Jack will like, and indeed Jack seems to like it very much indeed when Rhys greets him that night in nothing but a short robe and a slim-fitting pair of silk boxers. The boxers get ruined, but that’s okay. Rhys bought plenty.

The first time Rhys attends a social event as Mr. Rhys Lawrence he’s nervous, adjusting the fit of his cufflinks and the lay of his tie until Jack grabs his hands and makes him stop. Once they’re there it’s easier, though; although many are curious (and some are jealous) to finally meet the man who took Handsome Jack Lawrence off the market, when the initial sizing-up is over they shift their focus back to Jack. Rhys is happy to stand on the edge of Jack’s spotlight, basking in the glow.

It’s almost alarming, how quickly Rhys acclimates to Jack’s lifestyle. At first it’s a shock to the system; Rhys nearly has a heart attack when, after a hesitant inquiry from Rhys, Jack laughs and tells him there _is_ no limit on the card Jack had handed him and to _knock yourself out, kiddo_ . But after a week or two he no longer scruples to pull it out of his wallet, signing _Rhys Lawrence_ on the line without a second thought. Rhys takes to the life of a pampered socialite like he was born to it, floating through the days and spending evenings at society functions with Jack, spending weekends tangled up in Jack’s bed. Or, if Jack’s working weekends, which happens more and more often in the lead-up to the Torgue acquisition, spending time with Vaughn and Yvette.

It’s perfect. It’s everything Rhys could have asked for. So he doesn’t know why, three months in, he starts getting restless.

* * *

As Jack starts spending more time at the office and less at home, Rhys starts visiting him there. It’s not that Rhys is _bored_ , not exactly - but as much as he had hated going, the regularity of work monday through friday had given a rhythm to his life, a regular social interaction that he is suddenly without. His friends are great, of course - but they all work during the week, just like he used to, and once the initial rush of _freedom_ has worn off Rhys finds himself a little...adrift.

Walking into the looming monument that is Helios tower is a strange experience; it’s the kind of place Rhys had always wanted to work but never did, populated by the kind of people Rhys had always striven to be but never quite was. He feels like an imposter among them, sometimes, waving his specialized badge at security and riding the executive elevator up to the top floor. He’s pretty sure that Jack’s administrative assistant knows what he and Jack get up to on these mid-day visits, but Rhys is also pretty sure she doesn’t care; Jack’s the boss, and they’re married, right? Surely this is one of the perks. Today Jack’s assistant waves him into Jack’s office without even looking up, apparently far too used to Rhys to even warn him that Jack isn’t here at the moment. Rhys pauses uncertainly as the door shuts behind him. The office is clearly empty; Jack is probably out putting the fear of him into some luckless subordinate, so Rhys will just - wait for him. That’s fine. It’s not like he’s on a schedule.

There’s a small bar set up in an alcove, but Rhys doesn’t feel like taking advantage of it, so he ambles over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that loom large behind Jack’s desk. The view of the city is stunning from here, the afternoon sun just beginning to slant through the buildings. Rhys flattens his left hand against the glass and is struck by the sense-memory of being pressed up against these very windows, Jack biting down into the juncture of Rhys’ neck and shoulder as he presses in. Jack doesn’t seem to mind these office visits; on the contrary, he seems to welcome the chance to talk Rhys into a lunchtime quickie. He doesn’t need to try very hard. Rhys will never admit to it out loud, but he gets a thrill out of being on his knees in front of Jack’s throne-like chair, high up in the top-level suite while the hum of business fills the floors below them.

Rhys curls his fingers in on themselves and turns away from the window, eyes falling on Jack’s desk. It’s messier than usual; end-of-year reports combined with the acquisition mean that Jack’s desk is almost literally buried in paper. Shame that a company on the otherwise cutting edge would be so in love with paper reports; Rhys has spent more than one enjoyable afternoon bent over that desk, but there’s no room for that today. Rhys drifts over, hands in his pockets, and scans the top layer. He’s not - he’s not _snooping_ , he’s just - just passing the time, that’s all.

The first proposal that catches his eye is from the marketing department, which maybe shouldn’t be a surprise, since that was the department Rhys had worked in at his old job. He pulls the proposal toward himself, looking guiltily up of the office doors, but they remain steadfastly closed. Rhys flips the first page, then another, then frowns to himself and sits in Jack’s chair, scanning the rest of the proposal.

Huh. It’s admittedly been a while since Rhys has looked at a proposal like this, but it hasn’t been _that_ long, and the thing about basic math is that it doesn’t change - and those numbers definitely don’t add up.

Rhys closes the proposal and taps his fingers on the front. Someone’s caught this, haven’t they? Maybe Jack hasn’t gone through this stack yet - but really, whoever’s in charge of this department should have seen this before it ever crossed the CEO’s desk.

Rhys puts the proposal back, and as he does, a decidedly un-Hyperion logo catches his eye. He hesitates, but he’s read one report already, so what’s the harm in another?

 _Atlas_ , the header reads. Rhys flips through the pages, and this - this is a _much_ better proposal than the one he was just looking at. Atlas is a startup, it seems, and like many their size they’re looking for a buyer. From what Rhys can see, they’re not in bad shape - but they lack the capital to scale up and apparently they couldn’t round it up on their own.

He’s deep in Atlas’ proposed budget and projected growth when there’s a sudden snapping of fingers next to his ear and Rhys jumps. He looks up, heart racing, to see Jack standing over him, face creased with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“I know those reports are fascinating,” he says, dry as the desert. “But I kind of thought you might hear me the first or third time I said your name.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, up.” Rhys sheepishly stands and starts to move away as Jack takes his place, but Jack grabs his wrist and draws him back down so he’s settled in Jack’s lap.

“That’s better.” Jack wraps an arm around Rhys’ waist and pulls him in close. “Now you want to show me what was more absorbing than me? Just so I can burn it to the ground.”

Rhys rolls his eyes. “You’re not self-centered at all.” Jack just grins at him, and so Rhys shows him the Atlas proposal. “Have you looked at this? It’s pretty impressive.”

Jack looks skeptical but he takes the sheaf of papers. When his eyes find the logo at the top, however, his eyebrows draw down. “These losers? I know don’t have a day job, but come on.” He tosses the proposal back on his desk while Rhys is still blinking. “I was going to tell them no. The Torgue acquisition is enough right right now.”

Rhys tries to shake off the sudden hurt, but that _day job_ comment stings, so that may be why he snaps, “at least they can put together a proposal, unlike your marketing department.”

Jack’s already nuzzling the side of Rhys’ neck and he lets out a little grumble of displeasure. “What are you _talking_ about - oh come, on, really?” he complains as Rhys leans away to grab the offending proposal off his desk.

“Yes, really. Look at this.” Rhys flips the proposal open to page twelve and stabs the page.

Jack looks at him, irritated. “That’s an itemized budget list.” The _and?_ is clearly hanging in the air between them.

Rhys feels like he’s digging himself in deep, but he’s running on spite now, so he might as well see this through. “ _And_ it doesn’t match _at all_ their summary on page two.” He flips the pages back to show Jack. “This is way off, unless you’re giving Marketing a ridiculous budget. And even then, they need to find someone who can add. Did you even read this?”

Jack doesn’t respond, but he does grow very still, looking at page two before flipping back to page twelve, and Rhys’ anger starts to fade into unease as the seconds stretch on in silence.

“Son of a bitch.” Jack breathes at last. “Vasquez is so fucking fired.” Jack shifts Rhys a little bit so he can look him full in the face. “You spotted this after, what, two seconds in my office?”

Rhys frowns. “This is what I do. You know I have my MBA from Cornell, right?”

“...no.” Rhys can’t read Jack’s face at all, and it’s making him uncomfortable.

“I - what, did you think I was just a pretty face here to suck your dick?”

Jack’s face is still unfathomable, but his eyes tighten the tiniest bit and Rhys is pretty sure that the answer is _yes._

Rhys tries to ignore the faint sinking sensation in his stomach. It’s not like he didn’t _know_ that sex was the basis of his and Jack’s relationship, it just - stings a little, to be confronted with the fact that Jack hadn’t bothered to find out anything else.

“Anyway. I, uh. I should go.” Rhys pulls away, and it feels like Jack’s grip tightens for a moment, but he lets Rhys slip out of his grasp.

“Don’t forget we have that thing tonight at the museum,” Jack calls as Rhys makes his way to the door.

“Don’t _you_ forget,” Rhys shoots over his shoulder. “I’m not the one with the day job.”

Jack doesn’t answer that, and Rhys refuses to look back, but he swears he can feel Jack’s eyes following him all the way out.

* * *

The museum reception is...stilted. It’s one in a long string of events that Jack has to go to to “maintain a presence in the community,” and Rhys is normally glad to accompany him. Tonight, though, while Jack is as tactile as ever, hand pressing at the small of Rhys’ back or resting on his shoulder, his eyes are distant. Rhys catches Jack watching him when he thinks Rhys isn’t looking, but if he sees Rhys looking back he shifts his gaze away.

Rhys _hates_ it.

Despite the free-flowing champagne and what is probably a stunning exhibit, as far as Rhys is concerned it’s a miserable evening and he can’t wait until they can make a decent exit and go home. His hopes for a quiet night in are dashed, however, when Jack hands him into a taxi and starts to close the door, leaving Rhys along in the back.

“Wait.” Rhys puts his hand on the door to halt its movement. “Aren’t you coming home?”

“Nah, not right now.” Jack glances at Rhys and then looks away. “Gonna swing by the office first, pick up a few things.”

And wow, Rhys doesn’t want that to hurt, but it _does,_ somewhere deep in his stomach. Jack’s never scrupled about taking Rhys by his office before - hadn’t Rhys been there that very afternoon? But maybe Jack doesn’t want Rhys nosing around his papers anymore, Rhys thinks with a sinking feeling. Maybe he crossed a line - maybe all Rhys is to Jack _is_ a pretty face.

Jack closes the door with a “see you at home, pumpkin,” and Rhys leans back heavily against the seat as the cab pulls away from the curb. He stares out the window, unseeing, the entire ride home.

* * *

Despite the long day, Rhys is too unsettled to sleep when he gets home. Even changing into comfy pants and an old shirt doesn’t help, so he pours himself a glass of wine and settles down in front of the TV to wait for Jack.

He doesn’t realize he’s been dozing until he’s startled out of it by a _thump_ on his stomach. Jack’s standing over him with his hands on his hips, and lying on the couch next to Rhys is a Hyperion-issued tablet. Jack clears his throat.

“I thought, you know, I thought -” He stops and tries again. “I was thinking since you caught Vasquez’s ‘mistake’ in two frickin’ seconds, you could take a look at these, too.” He nods toward the tablet. “You know. If you’re bored or something.”

Rhys sits up slowly and opens the tablet. There are a number of files loaded on it, and it looks like - flipping through first one, it looks like Hyperion’s next quarterly report, or at least a draft of it.

Rhys looks up at Jack, who has crossed his arms over his chest and is looking somewhere to the left. “You’re not - you’re not mad that I looked at your papers?”

Jack finally, _finally_ looks back at Rhys in surprise. “Mad? Aw, pumpkin, I’m not mad.” His expression clears all at once. “Is that what you thought this was.”

Now it’s Rhys’ turn to look away, but Jack is already moving, planting one knee on either side of Rhys’ legs on the couch and catching Rhys’ face in his hands, making Rhys look at him.

“Rhysie, baby, I had finance re-run Vasquez’s numbers this afternoon, and according to them he is either grossly incompetent or committing major fraud, they haven’t sorted it out yet.” Jack laughs. “I am so far from mad. You caught me by surprise, that’s all - you bitched about your job so much before, I thought you were happy to be out of it.”

“I’m happy to be away from Henderson.” Rhys says, but he doesn’t know how Jack’s going to take this next part. “I am happy. I just...miss it sometimes. Being useful.”

Jack is looking at him intently, and Rhys wants to look away but Jack won’t let him. He doesn’t want Jack to think he’s ungrateful - Jack’s been so good to him - but he’s not going to lie, he does miss the work sometimes.

“Babe.” Jack runs his hands down Rhys’ neck to rest on his shoulders. “If you want to work you can, I’m not going to stop you. Hell, we can get you a position at Hyperion if you want.”

Jack smirks suddenly. “Also, I want you to know that I have about seven different dick jokes lined up about how _useful_ you are, but I am holding back, because I recognize that there is a time and a place-”

Rhys hits him with a throw pillow, but he’s laughing in relief. “Let me start by auditing your papers. Then we’ll see, all right?”

* * *

Weeks go by and Rhys hasn’t made a decision about if he wants to go back work yet. Or rather, he _has_ , he just doesn’t know _where_ \- he knows he doesn’t want to work at Hyperion, as much as he did once upon a time.

Rhys keeps thinking about Atlas. He wonders if Jack has told them no yet.

He’s browsing their website on his phone when Jack tosses a thick cream-colored envelope in front of Rhys on his way toward the fridge. It slides to a stop in front of where Rhys is perched at the kitchen island counter, and Rhys puts down his phone to pick it up. He doesn’t think he’s ever touched such expensive stationary in his life, and he wonders as he pulls the invitation out if that’s _real_ gold leaf on the embossed lettering.

“Fitzgerald Gala?” He looks up at Jack who has pulled a beer out of the fridge and is coming over to prop himself on the counter across from Rhys. “Are you going to this?”

“ _We’re_ going to this,” Jack corrects. “Hyperion can’t afford to not have a representative at the biggest charity event of the year, and if it’s not me the gossip columns go wild and our stock takes a hit. It’s not so bad - the booze is free and the food is passable.”

“ ‘Dinner with Dancing to follow,’ _”_ Rhys reads, and raises his eyes to Jack’s. “You dance?”

“Usually on the broken bodies of the competition,” Jack says, taking a swig of his beer, “but yes, when the situation calls for something a little more formal, I can dance. Can you?”

“I’ve had lessons,” Rhys says absently, drumming his fingers on the table. Rhys thinks about it, thinks about Jack’s hands on him, directing him in front of everyone.

“Okay. But don’t you dare dip me.”

* * *

It’s - kind of amazing, dancing with Jack. Jack makes it easy, the subtle pressure of his hands telling Rhys' hindbrain when to turn and where to step next, so he’s moving before he even has to think about it. Jack leads like he was born to it, like Rhys is his to direct as he sees fit, and there’s a heady kind of rush to relaxing into it, to letting Jack move them about the dance floor as he pleases.

At least, there is until Jack’s hand moves from Rhys’ waist to his lower back, and Rhys doesn’t even have time to say _don’t you fucking do it_ before Jack is murmuring “relax, babe,” and then Jack is _dipping_ him in front of everyone. There’s a moment of panic where Rhys is sure he’s going to go tumbling to the floor, but Jack’s hand is strong against his back and the feeling passes. He’s only down for a few seconds, but it’s long enough to spark some whistles from the edges of the dance floor, and Jack grins wolfishly down at Rhys.

“See? The crowd loves it.”

Then he’s pulling Rhys back up like Rhys weighs nothing, and they’re off again. Rhys is glad to relax into Jack’s lead and not think - his head is spinning, and while he’d like to blame it on the champagne or even the late hour, he’s pretty sure that’s not entirely honest.

* * *

It’s either very late at night or very early in the morning when they finally make it home.

Rhys is leaning on Jack just the tiniest bit as Jack unlocks the door and lets them in, and he lets Jack steer them down the front hallway, one arm wrapped around Rhys’ waist. Jack backs Rhys up against the couch and kisses him deeply, thoroughly, and Rhys is eagerly leaning into in when Jack pulls back and says, “c’mere.”

“I am here,” Rhys says, frowning. Why is Jack distracting him from what’s _important_ , i.e. Jack’s mouth on his.

Jack chuckles and steps back, taking Rhys by the hand and leading him around into the empty space in front of the bay windows. “ _Here_. I want to show you something.”

“If it’s the view of the city, I _have_ lived here for months, I’ve seen it,” Rhys complains, but he lets Jack draw him over.

“Smartass. Not that. _This._ ” Jack steps up close to Rhys, positioning Rhys’ left hand on Jack’s shoulder and spreading a hand on Rhys back, pulling him in close. It’s a much closer, much more _intimate_ version of what they were doing earlier, and even though Rhys knows Jack in the biblical sense this feels new.

“Didn’t we just do this,” Rhys says, and even his voice has hushed.

“Yeah, but not like _this_. Besides, I know you liked it. Even the dip,” Jack says with a wink.

Rhys grumbles a bit for show, but he feels his face heating. Jack’s right, though - he _did_ like it. He always likes Jack’s hands on him. Jack’s right about this, too - Rhys likes being moved in small circles in the dim light of their living room, with no audience or urgency, just the chance to relax into the heat Jack radiates and let Jack take the lead. Rhys rests his head on Jack’s shoulder and drifts, until they’re barely moving, just swaying back and forth in the reflected light of the city.

Then Jack noses into the hair just above his ear and whispers, “Bedroom?” And there’s something in his voice that sets all that warm contentment ablaze - Rhys likes Jack’s hands on him, but suddenly they’re both wearing too many clothes and just hands are not _enough._

Rhys turns his head slightly and says “ _yes_ ,” and when he bites down on Jack’s ear Jack swears and practically drags him from the room. Rhys laughs at the tightness of Jack’s grip and follows Jack’s lead.

He’s getting pretty good at that.

Jack undresses him like Rhys is a banquet and Jack is starving, but when Jack presses Rhys into the mattress he slows, hands mapping out the planes of Rhys’ body like he’s trying to memorize them. The gentle touch of his fingers as he detaches Rhys’ metal arm and sets it aside, the way Rhys had showed him, belies the fire in his eyes and the hungry press of his mouth against Rhys’. Jack opens him up carefully, like he thinks Rhys will break - although surely Jack must know by now that he won’t, that Rhys is made of stronger stuff than that - and when he rolls Rhys over and presses inside Rhys muffles his moan in the pillow.

“None of that, now,” Jack murmurs low in his ear, radiating heat against his back. “I want to hear you, sweetheart. I want the whole goddamn _building_ to hear you.”

So Rhys braces himself on his arm and doesn’t try to restrain the noises Jack wrings out of him. It’s easy, to close his eyes and give himself over to Jack’s hands and mouth and heated intensity. Jack knows him by now, knows how to make him tremble, how to make him beg, and Rhys does, loud and shameless until the sound echoes back in his ears. Jack grins into his shoulder, one hand firm on Rhys’ cock while the other pulls Rhys’ ass flush with Jack’s hips. Rhys shakes apart underneath him, empty of everything but _bright_ and _heat_ and _Jack_. He’s still catching his breath, throat hoarse, when Jack’s fingers go tight on his hips, and then Jack’s groaning and releasing hot and wet inside of him.

“Not bad,” Jack pants after a moment, shifting to the side and collapsing next to Rhys. “But next time we’re trying for a noise complaint, ‘kay?”

Rhys rolls his eyes and swats at him, even as he finds himself grinning. “You’re impossible.”

“You love me that way.” Jack’s voice is muffled by the pillow and he sounds half asleep already.

 _Yeah_ , thinks Rhys. _Yeah, I think I might._

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Vaughn says slowly. “You’re worried that you might be in love with the guy you’re married to?”

“When you put it like that it sounds stupid,” Rhys protests. He hadn’t even intended to say anything, really, but Yvette had asked, “How’s your sugar daddy?” and Rhys’ mouth  had blurted out “I think I’m in love with him” without Rhys’ permission.

Despite the late hours last night, Rhys had dragged himself out of bed to see his friends. Brunch dates were a requirement, Yvette had informed him. Rhys might have just stayed in bed if he had known his mouth was going to betray him.

Yvette raises her eyebrows. “What happened to ‘just a business arrangement?’”

“I don’t know! He’s just - I just - he’s so -“ Rhys raises his hands in frustration. “Look, forget I said anything, ok?”

Yvette and Vaughn exchange glances, and Rhys gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Have you talked to him about Atlas yet?” Yvette asks like she already knows the answer, and Rhys scowls at her.

“No, I haven’t.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. “There hasn’t been a good time. Why does it matter?”

“I just wonder what’ll happen if you ask for something he doesn’t want to give, that’s all - or if he finds out you want to work for the competition.” That’s like a slap across the face - not least because Rhys has wondered the same thing. Atlas isn’t _competition_ \- not yet, anyway. But it wants to be.

“He doesn’t _own_ me. I _am_ a fully functional adult, you know,” Rhys snaps.

“I know.” Yvette’s face is compassionate but her voice is unyielding. “Just...don’t dig yourself in too deep, in either of them. Startups come and go, and men like Jack keep divorce lawyers on retainer.”

“ _Yvette_.” It comes out a lot harsher than Rhys intends, but then again her words sting a lot more than Rhys wants them to.

Yvette presses on. “I’m just saying to be careful, ok? Don’t forget what this is. Don’t forget what _Jack_ is.”

“And what is Jack, exactly,” Rhys says flatly. It sounds ugly even to his own ears, and more than anything he wants to not be having this trainwreck of a conversation, but he can’t seem to help himself.

Yvette sighs. “A man with too much money. A man who thinks he can buy the world.”

Rhys is going to say something really _awful_ in response to that, when Vaughn cuts in. “We’re just worried about you, man.” Vaughn pales a little in the face of Rhys’ _et tu, brute_ glare, but he soldiers on. “We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Rhys drops his face into his hands. “Can we not talk about this anymore, please?”

Rhys is saved from whatever Yvette or Vaughn are going to say next by the timely arrival of their food. The informal dance of who ordered what and where Vaughn’s side order of melon and Rhys’ of bacon are going to go breaks the mood somewhat, and when the servers have cleared out Rhys looks at his friends imploringly.

“Let’s just eat, ok? I know you think you’re looking out for me, but can we just...drop it?”

Yvette has a look in her eye like she’s going to press the issue, but instead she cuts into her eggs benedict and the talk turns to the new interns at Vaughn’s accounting firm and oh my god, are they hiring children now?

Rhys knows this conversation isn’t over, but he doesn’t have any good answers, either for his friends or himself.

The thing is - Yvette’s not wrong. There was a lengthy section in the pre-nup outlining conditions for separation and details of divorce. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal at the time, but now Rhys wonders about it on the way home, wonders if maybe this relationship has an expiration date he doesn’t know about.

And then there’s Atlas. It’s been weeks since he saw the proposal, and who knows how long it had sat on Jack’s desk before that. It’s probably over and done with by now - maybe they found another buyer, maybe they’re in the midst of shutting down operations and it’s all a moot point. But Rhys thinks that there’s potential there - Jack clearly hadn’t read the proposal all that thoroughly, but he was occupied with Torgue, Rhys gets that.

Rhys knows the longer he puts off asking about it the further out of his reach it’s going to get. He doesn’t want to disturb the equilibrium he has with Jack, but he doesn’t know if he can let the opportunity slip away either.

* * *

“How was brunch with your friends, cupcake?” Jack doesn’t look up from where he’s skimming his tablet, but his voice carries across the foyer.

“Fine,” Rhys answers, throwing his keys in the bowl on the hall table with more force than is strictly necessary.

Jack does look up at that. He’s silent for a moment, then, “Doesn’t look like it was fine.”

Rhys sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Can we just - I don’t want to talk about it, ok?”

Jack is silent for another long moment, then he sets his tablet aside. “C’mere.”

Rhys approaches slowly, and as soon as he’s in reach Jack grabs his hand and pulls him over, turning him around and encouraging him to sit. Rhys settles on the floor in front of Jack’s chair, bracketed by Jack’s legs, Jack’s strong hands pressing up and down his neck.

“You’re full of knots, kiddo, when did that happen? I know I didn't leave you this way last night.”

Rhys hums, leaning back into Jack’s hands. “I’ve just - I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Very funny.” Rhys closes his eyes as Jack’s thumbs dig into his shoulderblades. “You remember that Atlas proposal on your desk?”

Jack’s fingers pause before pressing in again, and Rhys doesn’t know what to make of his voice when he says, “What about it?”

“I think - I think you should look at it again,” Rhys says in a rush. “I think they’ve got a decent market share for a company that size, and they’re doing some really innovative things, and I’d -” might as well go for broke “- I’d like to work with them.”

“You want to work with a company aiming to be a direct competitor,” and now Jack sounds amused. “Shouldn’t you wait until after the divorce to do that?”

Rhys’ eyes fly open.

“After the _what_ .” He scrambles to his feet and turns, but it feels like he’s left his stomach behind. “After the _what?”_

Jack’s staring at him with his hands raised, brow furrowed. “Uh, that was a joke, kitten - what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“A _joke._ You think that’s _funny?_ You think this is -” Rhys stops himself.

“I think this is what?” Jack says softly, and his jaw is tightening, and if Rhys keeps going they’re going to have a screaming fight, a real one, and part of him is tempted, to snap back _you think I’m disposable_.

But he doesn’t, mostly because he’s afraid Jack will say _yes, I do._

“Nothing. Never mind. It’s clearly not important,” and Jack doesn’t like that _all_ , Rhys can tell, but he’s just past caring so he turns on his heel and heads for the kitchen.

Jack doesn’t follow him, but then again, Jack never does.

* * *

Rhys doesn’t know how to bring it up again, so he doesn’t. Jack seems more than willing to drop it, and to the casual observer it probably looks like nothing has changed. Rhys wonders if maybe nothing _has_ changed, if he’s just seeing things clearly now.

Jack spends most of his time at the office in the leadup to acquisition, and on the day the papers are signed he surprises Rhys by coming home early and flopping down on the couch where Rhys is trying to read. _Trying_ to read - that becomes an impossibility when Jack puts his head right on Rhys’ legs and shifts to make himself comfortable, dislodging Rhys’ book in the process.

“Dick,” Rhys says fondly, and Jack grins up at him, even through the exhaustion writ large on his features.

“Was that an invitation? Because we’ve got a few hours, I can -”

“Stop it. I take it the signing went well?”

“Without a hitch.” Jack pauses as a yawn splits his face. “The reception’s in a few hours, speeches and photo ops and yadda yadda. You’re still coming, right?”

A week ago he wouldn’t have asked. “Yeah. If you still want me there.”

“‘Course.” Jack’s voice is sleepy and his eyes are drooping and Rhys can’t tell if he hears what Rhys was really asking. “Just this last thing, and then things can go back to normal.”

“Hmm,” is all Rhys has to say to that, but Jack is already snoring. Rhys pets his hair absently and wonders if he even knows what _normal_ is anymore.

* * *

The reception is in full swing by the time Rhys and Jack make it there, and Jack is immediately whisked away for a series of handshakes and photos. Rhys waves halfheartedly after him and makes for the bar.

He’s nursing his second drink, trying not to feel jealous of the celebratory Hyperion employees who are clearly having a good time, when a he feels more than sees a huge shadow fall over him. He turns to his left, polite smile pasted on, ready to pass on a polite variation of “not interested” in whatever the other person is offering, but he chokes on it when he sees who it is.

“ _Mister_ Lawrence,” Mr. Torgue sneers. “The _new_ one.”

Torgue has clearly been taking advantage of the open bar; his tie is loosened and his glass is almost empty and he practically reeks of alcohol

“I just wanted to thank you, _personally_ , for what you did to make this deal go through,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every word, and Rhys has no idea what he’s talking about. He blinks, but apparently that’s all the participation Torgue requires because he leans in for the next part.

“I _know_ that Lawrence married you to get my board on his side.” Rhys’ breath stills in his lungs. “I can’t prove it, but _I know it_ . _Respectable_ , my ass. Jack Lawrence wouldn’t know respectable if it bit him on the balls.” Torgue doesn’t seem to notice that Rhys isn’t responding; that he _can’t_ respond. Maybe Torgue assumes that Rhys already knew.

Maybe everyone already knew.

“I wouldn’t bank on staying around for too long though; If what he’s doing to Torgue Enterprises is any indication, Lawrence tends to cut the dead weight once he’s got what he needs.” Torgue downs what’s left of his drink and slams the crystal tumbler down on the bar with a _crack_. The room is crowded and noisy, but out of the corner of his eye Rhys thinks he sees Jack turn to look in their direction.

“Hope you get something good in the split,” Torgue slurs, turning to go. “God knows I didn’t.”

As he lumbers away Rhys sits at the bar and tries not to feel like his world is falling apart. This isn’t - hadn’t Jack said something about being _a respectable businessman_ the very first time they had had the marriage conversation? _A business arrangement_ , and Rhys had repeated those words back to Vaughn and Yvette like the blind idiot that he was because Rhys knows Jack by now, knows what _business_ means to him. Jack Lawrence doesn’t suffer competition - Torgue Enterprises is evidence of that - and he doesn’t do things out of charity, or else he would have bought Atlas when they had sent him an inquiry.

As Rhys looks up and meets Jack’s eyes across the crowded room, he feels like he’s suddenly, finally seeing Jack clearly.

Jack starts pushing his way through the crowd, but Rhys suddenly doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say. He sets his drink gently down on the bar, nods to the bartender, and heads for the door. He’ll be long gone before Jack can get to him, and maybe it’s time he was just - gone. Make the inevitable easier on everyone.

* * *

“Maybe Torgue was just being a dick,” Vaughn says as he hands Rhys a mug of tea, but it doesn’t sound like he’s too hopeful about that possibility.

“Torgue _is_ a dick.” Rhys says as he accepts the steaming mug. “But I also think he was telling the truth.

Vaughn looks at him sympathetically, and Rhys knows that he looks a mess, with his disheveled suit and red-rimmed eyes, tucked under a blanket on Vaughn’s couch. He doesn’t remember much of the cab ride over; all he remembers is needing to get somewhere like _safety_ and that’s always been Vaughn.

“So what are you going to do next?” Vaughn asks quietly, and Rhys doesn’t respond because he doesn’t know.

The silence is broken by a sudden pounding at the door, and they both jump. Vaughn scowls, getting up.

“That had better not be -” he opens the door a few inches and then shuts it immediately. “Nope,” he says over the sound of Jack’s muffled “hey!” from the other side. “No,” Vaughn says significantly, staring Rhys down as the buzzer sounds incessantly, like someone is leaning on it, and “ _oh come on_ ,” as Rhys gets up and nudges Vaughn aside.

“Finally,” Jack says irritatedly when Rhys opens the door. “Are you going to let me in?” he asks after a moment when all Rhys does is look at him.

“Sure.” Rhys shrugs and turns back inside. Might as well get this over with.

Jack shuts the door behind himself and stands awkwardly in front of it. He looks like he might have run here, although they’re halfway across town, so that can’t be true - but his cheeks are red and his hair is mussed and he’s breathing a little hard. His tie is hanging loose around his shoulders and his shoes are scuffed, and Rhys wonders if breaking up with him was _that_ important that Jack had to rush over here to do it.

Speaking of - Rhys frowns. “How did you even find me here?”

Jack raises his phone. “You texted me the address when I picked you up here, remember?”

Rhys does, but that had been months ago, before Jack had even asked him - before all of this. Rhys doesn’t know how to feel about that, that Jack had scrolled that far back through his messages - or that he had thought it was important enough to save.

He’s saved from having to respond when Jack takes a step toward him. “Listen, I don’t know what Torgue told you -”

“He told me the truth,” Rhys said. “I had just been too stupid to see it.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Vaughn slip out of the room. “You said from the very beginning that this was just business - I guess I just didn’t realize how literally you meant it,” he finishes, daring Jack to deny it.

Jack doesn’t. “Yes, getting married helped the Torgue deal.” Rhys flinches, but Jack continues unrelentingly, taking a step toward him. “But that’s not what _this_ is. That’s not what _we_ are.”

“And what _are_ we,” Rhys asks flatly. He can feel the tightness building behind his eyes, but he’ll be damned if he cries again over this, and in front of Jack, no less. Jack takes another cautious step, and another, like he thinks Rhys will spook and run - and maybe he’s not wrong, Rhys thinks distantly. When Jack comes to a stop in front of him he takes Rhys’ left hand in his and Rhys lets him. Jack rubs the wedding band on Rhys’ finger and Rhys wonder if this is it, if this is where Jack asks for it back.

“ _We_ are your ridiculous socks mixed up with mine in the dresser no matter how often I try to separate them.” Rhys blinks, because that doesn’t make any sense, but Jack’s not done. “What _we_ are is your stupidly endearing inability to get out of bed in the morning. What _we_ are is me running out of the reception for the biggest acquisition in my company’s history because I am so goddamn afraid I’m going to lose you over what some _idiot_ said to you.”

“I asked you to marry me, sweetheart. And yes, maybe I asked you _then_ because of the Torgue thing, but babe, if you think we never would have gotten here on our own you are kidding yourself.” Jack looks uncertain suddenly. “Unless - unless _you_ don’t want to be here anymore.”

There’s only one possible response to that. Rhys grabs Jack by the collar and pulls him in, pressing their mouths together. He _is_ crying now, but he doesn’t mind it, doesn’t mind any of it as Jack’s lips move against his, sure and reassuring.

Jack pulls back, and looks at Rhys seriously, one hand cupping his jawline. “Look, I didn’t do it right the first time, and I want to make it up to you.”

Jack steps back and drops to one knee. “Marry me. For real this time.”

“We are really married, you idiot,” Rhys says, and he’s still crying a little but the grin spreading across his face is starting to hurt his cheeks so he can’t bring himself to care too much.

“I know,” Jack says, getting up. “I just wanted to make sure _you_ knew it. Oh,” he says, snapping his fingers. “I was going to give this to you later tonight, but since _someone_ had to make a dramatic exit I might as well do it now.” Jack takes an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to Rhys, who opens it cautiously.

“It’s the charter to Atlas Corporation,” Jack says helpfully when Rhys just stares speechlessly.

“I can _see_ that. How did you - _when_ did you -”

“I took a second look after you asked me to. The board wasn’t easy to sell on a double-acquisition, but,” Jack shrugs. “I can recognize a good thing when I see it.”

“That’s _my name_ on the CEO line,” Rhys says in disbelief.

“Yeah, so try not to drive Hyperion into the ground, okay? I have a reputation to maintain, and a husband to keep happy.” Jack steps in and pulls Rhys close with an arm around his waist. “I do still have a husband, right?” He murmurs it into Rhys’ temple and Rhys turns to drape his arms around Jack’s shoulders.

“Yeah, you do. There’s no way you’re getting rid of me now,” and it’s difficult to kiss when you’re both smiling, Rhys thinks, but they manage somehow.

They’ll manage. He’s sure of that now.

* * *

**Jack**

“So when you finally caught up with him, did you tell him you were sorry for being an uncommunicative jackass?” Nisha downs her shot and eyes the one sitting in front of Jack until he sighs and picks it up.

“I communicate _just fine._ ” He tosses the shot back and only coughs a little, ignoring Nisha’s disbelieving face. “I’ll have you know that he ugly-cried, there was kissing, and then we went home to have awesome sex.” That’s an - _extremely abbreviated_ version of how it went down, but that’s all that these jokers get.

Next to him, Wilhelm downs his own shot without a visible change in expression, but manages to convey polite disbelief anyway.

“Look, this whole mess was kind of your fault anyway,” Jack complains as Nisha signals for another round. “You’re the ones who told me to marry him in the first place.”

“Yeah, and aren’t you glad we did? Now he’s stuck with you.” Nisha picks up her shot and holds it out for a toast, and Wilhelm follows suit.

“Gee, thanks.” Jack rolls his eyes as he picks up his own. “Thanks,” he says again, quieter as they _clink_ their glasses together. Wilhelm pats him on the shoulder and Nisha grins at him in a way that’s only slightly unsettling before she tosses back the second shot. The second one always  goes down smoother, Jack thinks as he tips his own glass back - maybe the second time is the charm.


End file.
